


cryophilic

by gothwyfe



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Classical Music, Emily is dead (lol she aint), Fluff and Humor, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marijuana, Pianist! Spencer, but like they dont kiss, its cute i promise, oatmeal, the holy trinity of depression food, they deal with some stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:08:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25510345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothwyfe/pseuds/gothwyfe
Summary: Emily is dead. Spencer plays piano. Derek remembers.
Relationships: Derek Morgan & Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan/Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss & Spencer Reid
Comments: 9
Kudos: 63





	cryophilic

**Author's Note:**

> tw: implied CSA towards the end. skip from 'Again, the song builds,' to 'Like the light he felt earlier,'.

_ August _

The faint glimmer of the overcast sun glimmers through the room. It reeks of alcohol and marijuana, the air seated heavy on his eyelids. It weighs on him, the damp warmth of the room surrounding him. 

Derek blinks, the stench of the room permeating his eyes. 

He sets the paper bags down on the marble countertop, trudging forward, shaking stray droplets from the rain off him. The dirty hardwood floor squeaks under his weight, and he pushes open the bedroom door to Spencer, tangled in the sheets. His room is a mess, half-drank glasses of whiskey and a few rolled blunts on the floor bowls laying top of opened books. His bathroom door had been left open, the light left on, sifting through the dusty air and laying on the points of Spencer’s face. 

“Kid,” Derek rasps out, surprised at the sound of his voice. “I brought you some food.” 

Spencer shifts in the sheets, rubbing open his bloodshot eyes. Yikes. 

He looks a mess. 

Spencer’s hair sits in disarray from the moist air, and he slouches up to a sitting position. “ _ Derek _ ?” He questions, still scratching at his eyes. “Wh-What are you doing here?” 

Derek clears his throat, sitting down beside the younger man. “Came to check up on you.” He whispers, very aware of the fact that the kid is most probably suffering a killer hangover right now. 

Spencer swallows heavily, blinking rapidly. He shields his face from the slight bathroom light, eyes squinting behind his hand. He grabs his stomach, which in turn grumbles viciously, with the ferocity of a foghorn. 

“You said you brought food?” 

\--

Derek picks at the bowl of oatmeal, sitting on Spencer’s ratty couch next to him. Oatmeal has never been his choice of breakfast food, much less his top 3 P.M meal. But Spencer had insisted, dicing in a banana and spouting something about ‘high amounts of Vitamin B-6’, and ‘bananas are known to combat hangover due to its rich potassium levels’. 

So he had gone along with it. 

Spencer was currently sitting in his disgusting multi-colored bathrobe-  _ which Emily had nicknamed, ‘Spencer’s depresser fit’  _ he thought with a pang. The bathrobe matched the throw-up color Spencer had demanded on the walls and couch. Something about bringing ‘tranquility’. 

Derek remembers when they had painted the walls. 

The whole team had come together when Spencer had finally announced he was moving out of the shithole he’d been living in before, in the crap part of town. They’d all gathered to help him move his already vast but not yet complete collection of books and the ragtag few boxes of other genuinely necessary materials. 

He remembers how Emily had been there, how Spencer and she had quickly become close after the few months of tension after the Hankel case. How Emily had claimed the crappy sofa the second he and Hotch had lifted up the stairs- apartment still didn’t have an elevator- and lounged with her glass of Merlot and commented on how ‘drab’ Spencer’s taste was. How he’d finally gotten fed up with her incessant talking and slapped a little of the puke paint on her- and how she retaliated with a stinky pillow to the face. 

He’s been remembering a lot about Emily recently. 

How she pretended to be all secret about her ‘Sin to Win’ getaways, but in reality told JJ and Penelope every detail. How she opened up about herself to the team, and how eager she was to eventually win them over. How she always knew just how to make him cackle. 

‘ _ She would have hated sitting in the muggy room _ ’, he thought. Emily always preferred it to be cold. She always said the heat could kill you, but the cold is reviving. 

He misses her. Misses the bickering, the fighting, gossiping, messing around with each other, messing around with Spencer. 

Speaking of Spencer… well, he looked a mess. 

The skin around his eyes was a deep purple, bordering on a blue-black, in contrast to the bright red of his eyes. His skin had lost some of the glow he’d earned back- despite a tough year. It was sallow and pale, stretched against his gaunt cheeks. His lips were severely chapped- scarily so. His hair was greasy and matted, laying like a raccoon’s nest despite his recent cut short. There laid a thin layer of sweat on his forehead and upper lip; the sheen glinting in the yellow light he’d turned on. 

He looked like a stoner skeleton.

Emily would have laughed at that.

Emily would have laughed at Spencer, so hard that he would start laughing too, and then she’d give him the advice that only  _ she _ could ever so perfectly hand out. 

She would try and make him some food in his stupid kitchenette, and then accidentally light it on fire. She would order him take-out and they would trade stupid college stories and he’d forget about whatever stupid thing he’d been moping his pasty ass over immediately. 

She’d have turned on the A.C Unit. 

“Pretty boy,” Derek tries. “How you holdin’ up?” 

Spencer turns his bloodshot eyes to him, crinkling with annoyance. He scoffs, shoveling another spoon of oatmeal into his mouth. “Fucking amazing.” 

Derek sighs, his hand twitching to grab the other’s skinny leg, but thinking better of it last second. “Stop it,” he says softly. “Don’t do that. We’re all doing this together.” 

The anger in Spencer’s eyes soothes, and he turns back to staring out the closed window. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” 

Derek nods gently. “So I’m gonna ask again,” he sets down the bowl on the cluttered floor, kicking aside a bright green and purple sock. “How are you doing?” 

Spencer’s chin trembles and his eyes brighten. He sucks in a breath, and he sets his eyes back on Derek, looking right through him. 

“You go first.”

“I’m sorry?” Derek’s eyebrows furrow. 

“ _ You _ go first.” He says, more force behind it. “How are  _ you _ holding up?” 

Derek sits back, pulling one leg up onto the small couch. “Way to turn this on me, kiddo.” He jokes, no humor in his tone. 

Spencer continues to stare. 

Derek inhales through his nose heavily. “Okay. Okay. I’m not doing so great. I’m hurting,” Derek lowers his gaze, looking down at his palms. “Going out to get you groceries was the first time I left the house in three weeks,” he admits. 

Spencer’s stare doesn’t break. “And?” He prompts. 

Derek chuckles. “Way to ease the landing, doc.” 

Spencer raises his eyebrow.

Derek fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Fine.  _ And _ , I can’t do anything without thinking of her. In the store today, I saw a woman with dark hair and thought it was,” his breath catches. “Emily.”

“ _ And,  _ I’m not coping very well. Which is why I’m not surprised to see you living it up here.” He points, gesturing around the room. 

“I have a prescription,” Spencer replies lightly. 

Derek breathes out his nose heavily. “Bull,” he murmurs. “Okay, I played by your rules. Your turn.” 

Spencer lips purse. He continues to look at him, corners of his mouth lowering. 

“You know,” his voice is deep with disuse and rancid smoke. “I know you didn’t come here to check on me. I know you just needed a reason to get up.”

Derek reels back, nostrils flaring. “Kid,” he says hotly, “The only thing I didn’t come here to do was to get fuckin’ profiled. I think you need to take a step  _ back _ .” 

He doesn’t admit he’s right, of course. He doesn’t admit that he did only come here because he needed a reason to be around someone that he could fool himself into thinking he was helping. He doesn’t admit that being ‘the hero’ had become a drug to him- a fix he so desperately needed after failing someone else. 

Spencer’s mouth tightens further. He turns back to his oatmeal, stuffing down yet another spoonful. “Sorry,” he says half-heartedly, after a moment. 

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence, Spencer’s spoon clinking against the bowl every few seconds. Derek scratches at his ankle with his toe and looks around the room some more. His eyes narrow at the sight of the other bright purple and green sock draped across the ceiling fan. He shakes his head, looking away into the corner, where he notices a large black and purple box. He squints, trying to make out the words- 

A loud ‘HONK’ punctures the silence, and the bowl of oatmeal in Spencer’s hands goes flying, him scrambling to catch it before it meets the ground. 

Spoiler- it does. 

Spencer groans at the sight of mushy banana oatmeal on the ground, and Derek fights to hold back a snicker. 

“Fantastic,” he grumbles, heading to the bedroom to presumably grab a rag. Derek lingers on the couch for but a second longer, before stepping around the oatmeal to look closer at the box. He picks it up, the smooth cardboard cold against his hands, dust rubbing off which he wipes on his pants.

‘ _ YAMAHA’ _ .

Huh. He didn’t know Spencer played. 

In fact, he must be new at it, to have the box still laying around. But, at it long enough for a thick layer of dust to settle on it, and the box to have formed a clean ring on the floor. 

“Derek?”

He turns around, the box still firm in his hand. Spencer is standing there, dripping rag held in his hand. 

“Kid,” Derek says, pointing at the box. “You play?” 

Spencer’s eyes turn stormy, and he slouches down onto the floor. He sets the rag down and puts his face in his hands. 

“Dude…” he whispers. A heavy sniffle follows. 

Derek puts the box down, placing a soft hand on the younger man’s shoulders. This is what he came prepared for. “Hey, kid. It’s okay. Why don’t you tell me what’s up?” 

Spencer continues to let out little sniffles, hands covering his face. The sniffles quiet after a while, but he leaves his hands over his face. 

Derek lets the suffocating air weigh on him, clenching the hand around Spencer’s shoulder just a little tighter. 

“Emily told me to,” he finally whispers, defeated. “I was gonna surprise her with this piece. A special one.” 

Derek relegates his hand to a soft circular rhythm around Spencer’s collarbone. “Okay. Why don’t we play it anyways?” 

Spencer takes his face out of his hands, revealing his wet, red face. “She’s never gonna hear me play it. I just realized- with you standing there- that she’s  _ dead _ , Derek. She’s  _ gone _ , forever.” 

Derek slows his rhythm. “I know kid, I know.”

“It didn’t- I mean, I didn’t even realize until- Well, I knew but-” Spencer babbled. 

“Hey.” Derek takes both of Spencer’s shoulders, forcing him to look him in the eyes. He stares through Spencer, looking within- and blanks.

Fuck. 

“It’s okay,” he finds himself saying. 

But it’s not. It’s not. 

Derek makes a split-second decision, “No you know what? It’s not. I’m so fucking angry.” 

And he is. Everything he held beneath the surface, all his guilt and anger and depression he kept stewing came back up, and he blinks back hot tears. 

“It makes no fucking sense- how it could be her.” 

Spencer nods lamely. “How it could be now.” 

“How it could be  _ us _ .” Derek’s face scrunches up. “It just doesn’t make any fucking sense.”

“No fucking sense.” Spencer echoes. He grabs a dirty blunt from the floor, using a small lighter from under his dirty couch to set it up. He takes a long drag, wiping at his face, and offers it to Derek. 

Whatever. 

He accepts, testing the smoke in his mouth before swallowing it down. 

“I miss her so damn much.” Spencer wallows. “Everything just feels worse. I can’t breathe.”

Derek nods, feeling a few unguarded tears slip from his eyes. “That woman? In the store? She didn’t even have dark hair. She just looked at me like Emily would sometimes, and my brain just shut off.”

“She always made me feel better. She’s the only one who could after Hankel.” 

Derek inhaled through the blunt once more. “She always let me feel like a kid again. Before- before all that stuff. When I could just argue with her about which ‘Community’ character sucked the most or have stupid tik-tac-toe championships or... or just do dumb shit in the office.”

Spencer took the device from him. “I felt safe with her. I told her my secrets quicker than I told you.” His eyes shuttered a little. 

“Me too.” 

Spencer put out the roll and reached up to put it down next to a heavy pile of microbiology books. He let his head slip onto Derek’s chest, and Derek put his own head down above his. 

His back screamed in protest, but there was nothing more he wanted at that point than to finally feel just the slightest bit better in the face of the past 3 weeks. 

\--

_ 4 months later; December.  _

Derek opens his door to a very pink and cold Spencer, holding a large black box in his hands. 

“Hey,” he says sheepishly. “Do you mind if I come in?” 

\--

Spencer sits quietly across from the piano, set on top of Morgan's coffee table he had cleared off. His bright living room lights cast a ghostly shadow on the other side of Spencer’s face. 

He looked a little better than he did 2 months ago. His face had filled back in, but the shadows under his eyes persisted. It wore Derek down, seeing Spencer almost perpetually exhausted. But being out in the cold had brought a little life back into the kid- his face had brightened in the chill, and his eyes looked alight. 

Derek sets down two glasses of Merlot- _ Emily’s favorite-  _ and settles into the soft armchair beside him.

“I think,” Spencer starts cautiously. “If Emily had wanted anyone else to hear my first real go at this song, it would have been you.” 

Derek gapes for a second, before collecting his thoughts. “Pretty boy, you don’t gotta do that. Emily doesn’t need this to be special-”

“ _ I _ need it to be,” he says firmly. “And it is special. This is for her.”

Derek gently smiles, holding up the glass to clink against Spencer’s. “For her,” he echoes. “What are we playing?” 

Spencer sets the glass down, taking just a small complimentary sip. “Miroirs- Ravel. She says it makes her nostalgic- reminds her of when she lived in Europe. You know Emily played piano  _ and _ sang as a kid?” he said incredulously. 

Derek’s smile softens. “God, I didn’t know. If I had, you know I would have been the first in line to hear the princess sing a little.” 

Spencer grins. “I heard her once. She’s good.”

“Was,” Derek corrects instinctually. Spencer’s goofy grin fades, leaving a grimace. Derek cringes inwardly. 

“Was,” Spencer whispers. 

They sit there for a moment, brewing in the heated living room and artificial lighting. 

It's times like this when Derek almost prefers Spencer’s dumpster of an apartment- when his house feels so perfectly painted, structured, and  _ synthetic _ . He loved building his homes, he loved the artistry of it but  _ god _ did he hate living in them after. 

Spencer cracks his knuckles. “I need to do this.” He says, finally. “Not just for her.” 

“I get it, kid. Whenever you’re ready.” 

Spencer’s hands tremble on the keys, and he starts with a stutter. 

Derek prefers TLC- he and Penelope bonded over their love of 90’s and 2000’s hits- and he gets down to some good R&B more than anything. Some Stevie Wonder, some Aretha Franklin, some Beyonce if he was feeling it. 

However, he is not clueless about classical. He knows some basic names, some fancy Italian words. Was just never his thing. 

But the way Spencer plays classical makes him fall in love. 

The song starts very light and glissando, touching on his heartstrings. It is light and of his childhood, of innocence and an untainted world. How his parents were giants he could never compare to and everything was filled with wonder. 

But it deepens, darkens and he feels himself grow with the song. Spencer’s hands shake as he hits a chord  _ hard,  _ and his mouth twitches as he builds, up and up and  _ up _ . Derek’s heartstrings twinge and ache, the light touches and twitches of the keys playing on him. 

He feels his eyes wet suspiciously. 

Again, the song builds up, just to fall down and take him with it. He is just a teenager- so angry at the world and the system and his mom and his friends. So angry at the hands that touched him everywhere- how he always wanted to but never did explicitly say ‘No’. For years he hurt all over, allowing no one to touch him. 

Spencer hits with his right hand even harder, grounding into the keys and his eyebrows scrunching up and together.

Derek remembers feeling like nothing, feeling his soul empty out through his mouth. How he attributed his success to that  _ bastard _ , how he let him get inside and crawl through his head. How he hurt his knee and lost his scholarship and in turn, could have lost his life.

How he was rock bottom. 

Spencer hesitates on the next few chords. He lets it ring, and when it’s time, slams his bony fingers down enough to hear the noise of skin hitting the plastic. 

He is 20, he is facing the racism in the police precinct, the suffocating and overwhelming horror of being on the bomb squad, the exhilaration of how quickly he moving up ranks in the Bureau. He is scared and alone, he is 30 and he is always watching his back. For another unsub, for another perp, for another person that he can’t fight off because he is  _ just _ 13 and he  _ just _ lost his dad-

Like the light he felt earlier, Spencer’s fingers nimbly begin the same soft tune as the start.

His heart crawls back up from its drop into his stomach, and he  _ hurts _ still, his mind goes fuzzy and his eyes are unfocused but he feels whole. He feels okay. 

He deftly taps the last few notes out- a soft tumble out together, and at last, the piece is finished. 

Spencer looks up, eyes crazed, and face flushed.  _ ‘He’s sweating’ _ Derek thinks. 

“What did- Oh shit! Are you okay?” Spencer moves a little closer, hand reaching up, and Derek grows aware of the growing wetness down his cheeks. 

Shit. When had that happened? 

Derek’s hand snaps up quickly to wipe at the tears. Those were not a part of the plan. “Fuck- yeah, I’m fine- Spencer, that was  _ beautiful _ . Fuckin- magnificent.” 

Spencer’s hand moves back down to wipe at his damp forehead. The flush across his face glows brighter and tips into the line of his shirt. His big brown eyes glimmer under the living room lights. 

“Really?” He hesitantly says. “I always mess up that middle part- and I was pounding on that keyboard- can’t seem to get that out of my system-”

Derek grabs his knee. “Pretty boy. I promise you, Emily would be so goddamn proud.  _ I  _ am proud.”

Spencer’s eyes widen a little more, and his mouth twists up into that goofy smile Derek oh so loves to see. “Well... I guess I did make you cry…”

“Hey!” He snaps, without any of the fire behind it. “Don’t go around telling people that shit- you’re gonna mess with my tough boy reputation.” 

Spencer’s grin grows mischievous. “You’re kidding, right? Tough boy? The guy who calls me or JJ to kill spiders? The guy who cries at Pixar movies?”

Derek turns his nose up haughtily. “Even tough guys have their weaknesses. Mine just so happens to be arachnids and the opening scene of ‘Up’. You better commit that to memory.” 

Spencer mock-saluted with one hand. “Yes, sir.” he huffed. 

Derek laughed, leaning down on the couch beside him, picking up the glass of Merlot with a heavy sigh. He picks up the remote as well, putting on an episode of some stupid reality show. 

Spencer sipped at his own glass quietly. The woman on the show throws her shoe at some other woman, calling her a lying, cheating whore. Hoo, boy. 

Derek is just getting into the episode (he’s rooting for Linda), when the phantom noise of Spencer’s brain running grinds into his ears. 

“Something up, kid?” 

Spencer looks at him, then back down at his half-empty glass with a small look of disgust. “I hate alcohol. It should only be used to get black-out drunk.” 

Derek chuckles, eyes closing. “Whatever you say, kid. You didn’t have to have it.” 

“Did you mean that?” His alcohol breath invades Derek’s space. 

“Mean what?” 

“That Emily would have been proud of that.” 

Derek looks at him and flicks the pause button on the remote with a sigh. Linda had just confronted Barb at the brunch party. “What makes you think I wouldn’t have?”

Spencer’s mouth twists at the corner. “I don’t know. Just- there’s not much to be proud of.”

Derek wants to chokeslam this kid.  _ God _ can he say the most idiotic things.

“You learned that crazy hard piano piece in like a few months. You built your way into the BAU at 22. You’re the youngest agent, like, ever. You need to shut your  _ damn _ brain off sometimes, kid.” 

Spencer laughs. “I wish it were that easy.” 

Derek loops his arm around Spencer’s shoulders, taking a sip of his drink around his head. 

“Emily would have wanted nothing more. That was amazing. And I’m proud too- got it?” 

Spencer’s eyes were always sad. But he smiled, full of melancholy and longing. “Got it.” 

Derek looks down at him a little longer and then flicks the play button. Linda throws a drink in Barb’s face. Good for her. 

Barb retaliates with her coach purse straight to Linda’s face, and Spencer whistles, letting out a soft  _ ‘shit’ _ . He snuggles up a little closer to Derek, and he is suddenly aware of how cold his home was. The merlot is warm in his stomach, but the hair on his neck stands up and he vaguely senses the goosebumps up his arms. He pulls Spencer even closer, their body warmth radiating in between them. 

Emily always preferred the cold. 

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in one sitting from 11pm to 2 am. its just a huge word vomit, basically. i tried to do some fuckin symbolism or whatever, but idk. i was gonna make them kiss at the end, but i just didn't feel like the vibe fit the rest of this. but what r u feeling?


End file.
